


Celebrations In The Aftermath

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gift Fic, M/M, Marauders' Era, Memories, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-09
Updated: 2006-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-03 23:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus and Sirius celebrate winning the Quidditch Cup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebrations In The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paranoidsistah](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Paranoidsistah).



> Thanks due to [](http://jazzypom.livejournal.com/profile)[**jazzypom**](http://jazzypom.livejournal.com/) for beta-ing. Written for [](http://paranoidsistah.livejournal.com/profile)[**paranoidsistah**](http://paranoidsistah.livejournal.com/) .

_(It always starts the same as he remembers...)_

In their last year at Hogwarts, Gryffindor finally won the Quidditch Cup.

It had been a long, trying season for James and Sirius. After their stunning and unexpected loss to Slytherin in the opening match in November, the team flew back with a vengeance, grinding the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws into the dirt and giving the Gryffindors two wins and one loss for the season. Slytherin went on to win against Ravenclaw but lost to Hufflepuff; then Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff in their match, leaving Gryffindor and Slytherin tied for first place and resulting in a tiebreaker match to determine which House would take the Cup.

Remus missed the game itself, trying to catch up on his NEWT studies after the full moon because the final examinations began the next week; though he would be plied for years with the brilliant exploits of one James Potter and one Sirius Black during the final match. He still rolled his eyes at it. "Perfect early June day mate! Just overcast enough to prevent the sun from blinding the players! Prongs there, flying high, snitched the Snitch right out from under that bastard Slytherin Seeker! And Padfoot there, knocked two of the Chasers flying right off their broomsticks! Brilliant, man, you should have seen--"

_(No, it was what happened after the game that was memorable...)_

The milling throng swept the team to the locker room and was (not so) patiently waiting for the newest heroes of the hour to finish showering and changing, before the victory celebrations started in earnest in Gryffindor Tower. Remus pushed through the crowd from the stands to the change room at the far edge of the pitch. Coming from the library, he'd heard the jubilant shouts ring through the staid stone halls and hurried to meet up with his mates. Striding through the crowd with purpose, he flashed his Prefect badge as necessary to clear a path, until he passed by the sentries at the door of the Gryffindor changing room and slipped inside.

It was just as noisy inside the changing room as it was outside. The hiss of showers in the stalls echoed in counterpoint to the ecstatic shouts and yells from the players. James grinned wildly, fresh out of the shower, towel wrapped round his hips, hair spiked every which way and standing in the centre of the room brandishing a flask of contraband Firewhisky. The Cup, glistening in the humid air, was perched beside him on the bench. Remus glared at James for exactly one second, registering his official displeasure as Prefect (because the Head Boy really ought to have known better); then he returned James' cheeky grin, adding a V for victory sign for good measure.

James poured the contents of the Firewhisky bottle into the Cup and hoisted the cup to his lips, taking a long pull. He coughed and spluttered, then held the Cup up over his head. "Ah, truly nectar of the gods!" he proclaimed, then passed it around, contents sloshing over the rim of the cup.

Remus searched for Sirius in the small crowd, but he was seemingly nowhere to be found; this was indeed odd because usually he was the life of the party—the stereotypical reveler with the lampshade on his head and clogging starkers on the table. So Remus waited, leaning against one of the green dented lockers and grinning widely at the proceedings.

Peter stumbled up to him, watery eyes impossibly bright with joy and Firewhisky—it was obvious James and Peter already started their party early.

"Didja see, Moony? Didja see James? Man was fucking brilliant!" he yelled over the din, slurring only slightly. "Fucking brilliant! That last catch--!"

Remus nodded sagely, looking anxiously around the room. Where was the sodding prat...?

"Coming up to the Tower?"

"Yeah, in a bit, Wormtail."

"Brilliant! See you there then."

The other players tripped out of the locker room, James and Peter leading the way with a raunchy off-tune Muggle ditty:

_Do your balls hang low?  
Do they wobble to and fro?  
Can you tie them in a knot?  
Can you tie them in a bow?  
Can you throw them over your shoulder  
Like a Continental soldier?  
Do your balls? HANG? LOW?_

The voices faded slowly as the crowd headed towards the Tower, until the noise dropped to only that of the shower hissing just off the locker room. Still no sign of Sirius. Ever more concerned, Remus peered around the corners to make sure no one else was around, then slipped into the shower area.

Sirius stood leaning against the wall in front of the lockers, completely covered in mud from head to toe. He had removed his filthy Quidditch robes and shirt, dropping them into a soggy heap at the foot of his locker, leaving his gloves and trousers on. The steam accentuated the ripple of youthful muscle on his lean body; his pale skin glowed with damp and he almost shimmered in the dingy greyed light. He greeted Remus with a shy yet rakish grin, pushing his mud-matted fringe off his equally dirty face.

_(Until Sirius asks Remus to join him in the Quidditch locker room after the game.)_

"You here to help me celebrate, Moony?" he asked in a low husky voice.

"You weren't with Prongs," Remus greeted him.

Sirius shrugged. "The real party'll start in the common room. I'll meet up with him then. Meantime..."

Remus' breath caught in his throat. _Meantime_ held endless worlds of meaning, worlds that they had not even begun to explore. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I s'pose," he replied in the same deliberate tone. He returned Sirius' suggestive smirk, licking his lips; his dark eyes hooded, he tossed his own robe onto the low bench across from the stalls.

Sirius watched in approval. "Everyone else left then?"

"Looks like."

Sirius pushed off the wall and stepped closer until he stood right in front of Remus, his normally cloud-grey eyes almost black and roaming eagerly up and down Remus' body. "Good. Because this is strictly a private party, mind." His voice held a ragged catch.

"Strictly private," Remus agreed, nodding slowly, his pulse quickening; he felt the heat emanating from Sirius in waves. "No crashers."

Sirius licked his nibbled lips, and they shone in the muted light of the shower room. Remus raised his wand to seal the doors to the shower room.

No sooner had Remus finished muttering the last Sealing Charm when Sirius lunged at him, seizing him by the waist and pinning him to the damp tiled wall directly under the shower head.

Remus' head hit the tile with a dull thud, followed by the pressure of Sirius' mouth against his own, wetted lips mashing together, clumsy and demanding. Remus opened his mouth eagerly under the onslaught, the clack of teeth echoing in his ears as his tongue slid hungrily against Sirius'. Sirius moaned into his mouth, his hips thrusting involuntarily against Remus' leg.

"Oh fuck, Moony," Sirius groaned, breaking the kiss. His gloved hand snaked up his arm, leaving a trail of muddy hand prints on his previously pristine white shirt. He stared at Remus, already-swollen lips parted and he was panting; the pulse point on his neck throbbed wildly.

"We'll get there," Remus promised, breathless and hypnotized by the racing pulse in Sirius' neck. The wall was slippery with condensation against his back; though the shower itself missed him, his hair was plastered to his face and he broke out sweating himself from the heat and Sirius' nearness. He could smell Sirius: mud and grass and sweat, damp leather and the faintest trace of canine essence, mossy and utterly intoxicating. He wanted to taste that throbbing pulse point, to feel it flutter under his lips. He felt Sirius' erection hard against his thigh. His own pulsed against the fly of his trousers, straining for release.

_(Oh Merlin he wants, he has never wanted so much in his life--)_

Sirius closed the distance to kiss him again, his hands now sliding up from his shirt to his hair. Remus felt Sirius' long nimble fingers wind around the strands at the nape of his neck, and he moaned deep in his throat. Remus' hands reached out by instinct, grasping Sirius' hips and pulling Sirius to him. Sirius arched against him, rolling against his thigh as Remus' hand began to ease the waistline of his trousers down over his hips. Sirius gasped as Remus' fingers caressed the firm wedge of muscle on his belly just below his navel, brushing the narrow line of hair that traveled down to his groin.

"Yesss--" he hissed into his mouth, bucking against Remus' thigh.

Remus' other hand slid upward along his flank towards his chest, running his hand along the impossibly soft skin covering his ribs--

"OWWW!" Sirius yelped and broke away, gasping in pain.

"Wha--?" Remus mumbled, distracted.

"Ribs," Sirius panted. "FUCK they hurt! Fell off the bleeding broomstick--"

Remus' fingers gently pressed against Sirius' side, probing with the lightest of pressure, checking for injury. "Bruised, most like. Don't feel any broken. You can still breathe OK, yeah?" His voice trembled.

"Yeah, but still it bloody HURTS," Sirius pouted.

Remus rolled his eyes and licks his lips. "You are such a girl, Pads. Will this help?" He bent down slowly to drop gentle light kisses along the tender purpling skin.

Sirius whimpered in pain-tinged delight as Remus flicked out his tongue to trace along the outline of his sore ribs. Remus savoured the heady salt tang of sweat and mud on Sirius' damp skin. His tongue swept a hot wet trail up one rib to lave over one erect nipple and Sirius arched his head back in utter pleasure, discomfort entirely forgotten.

This was new for both of them, so very new it was still red and raw—the burning discovery of hands and mouths and breath on skin was so keen they bled with it, their young souls yearning to taste, to touch, to feel all of it now now now. Nervous fingers fumbled at snaps and flies, wanting, needing so badly to touch that they both shook with anticipation; yet their hands were so hesitant at the same time, sliding their trousers down and reaching underneath Y-fronts and boxers to grasp each other. Sirius slid Remus' foreskin back with trembling fingers to reveal the tip of his penis, utterly fascinated by that bit of attached skin; he swept a tremulous thumb across Remus' already-leaky slit and Remus arched his neck back, baring his throat. Remus curled his hand around Sirius' cock, equally enthralled by the lack of foreskin there. Remus watched Sirius' face contort with surprise, his mouth a perfect 'o' of shock and pleasure. Then Sirius' lips quivered as he watched Remus's head drop forward again and his eyes squeeze shut in near-ecstasy.

_Brilliant_ it was, so much more than any of the wrestling matches they'd sometimes engaged in-- Rolling and tussling around together on beds or floors or grass, if they both happened, once in a while, to rub against each other through their clothes they simply didn't mention it. Something like that was just accidental and that was bound to happen occasionally when one wrestled his good mate, yeah?

_(Until the last time, when they suddenly and inexplicably stopped mid-tussle with Remus straddling Sirius' hips—when something shifted, and accidental somehow crossed the border to deliberate, and both boys rubbed and thrust against each other on purpose, eyes glazed and gazes locked, until they both came hard and fast in their pants. Then Remus clambered off, and they never mentioned that either.)_

For this was real, this was _it_, they were almost naked and under the shower and touching each other where they had only touched themselves before. Sirius thrust into Remus' fist and Remus arched into Sirius', neither quite reaching a rhythm yet but who cared right now when they each fit so well in the other's hand? The shower sluiced the mud off Sirius, rivulets of dirt curling and swirling down the drain. Remus' sandy hair was dripping from the spray, water beading off the tip of his long nose, and Sirius leant forward to catch the hanging drop with his tongue.

Remus couldn't help it—he snorted with repressed laughter. "You really are a mangy mutt," he murmured, jutting his chin up.

Sirius' eyes gleamed with a wicked leer. "Am I now?" he asked, then closed the remaining distance to capture Remus' swollen lips in a ravening kiss.

Then it was just lips and tongues and hands, gasps and groans and blood pounding with desperate strokes, finding that elusive rhythm at last, faster and faster and losing themselves until they were both close, so _close_ and then one more devouring kiss and in a flash Remus tensed and shuddered and was _there_.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Remus startles awake, covered in sweat, already shuddering despite himself. In his restless sleep he had already fumbled his trousers open and now he can not help but stroke himself and moan and spill over his hand. He buries his face into the bundled-up jacket he uses as a pillow to try to stifle the sobbing gasps and jerks until he's spent and soft. Then he lies curled on his side under the tattered and scratchy Salvation Army-issue blanket and pants, trying to recover his breath.

He shakes with the vividness of his dream in the fading afterglow. He remembers this dream from before: he had dreamed it a couple of times since seventh year in Hogwarts; more frequently when Sirius entered Azkaban. Each time, such perfect clarity, such painful detail—

Yet it was only ever just a dream, because he knows it never happened.

He rolls into a tighter ball, warding off the damp chill, and rocking himself to try to recover some shred of equanimity in the darkness. It never happened, _it never happened._

Not then--in Hogwarts their friendship simply had not gone that way. One did not fancy one's mates. Even after Hogwarts, they did not turn that way. The growing war, and the old mistrusts that bubbled under the surface, festering and eating them from within, took care of anything that might have flared between them.

Back when he first had this dream, he had stubbornly told himself he didn't know why he started dreaming it. As he remembers it now, after Remus had found Sirius in the showers, he had simply told Sirius to head straight up to the common room, and had left. Now he suspects, given their relationship in Grimmauld Place, that perhaps he just didn't want to acknowledge why. Though over the years while Sirius was in Azkaban he had shocked himself by wishing occasionally that it had happened; now that Sirius is gone forever he sometimes regrets it never did.

His head tosses on his makeshift pillow, trying not to let the flood overwhelm him. They'd had such a short time together in Grimmauld Place, far too short: too many missions and too much time spent away, trying to cross the chasm of alcohol and too much time spent alone; leaving them fumbling in the dark when they were together, groping for whatever it was they needed from each other. They both knew that what they had, had only been forged from circumstance. Still, they had started to work toward something that might have lasted beyond that, taking tentative but hopeful steps, before Sirius fell through the Veil. So sometimes, deep in the throes of unbidden grief, he bitterly wishes he had the gift of Divination then--or at least access to a Time Turner now--to tell his stupid younger self to take that reckless plunge with Sirius when he had had the chance.

But then he always tries to console himself: perhaps it was for the best.

Perhaps.

It would never have worked, he thinks with the clarity of hindsight; they would have been torn asunder even worse than they had been. They would have been even more broken (if indeed such a thing were possible, at least for Sirius) when they did meet again; and he doubts he would ever have had the fortitude to bear the apparent betrayal of love as well as friendship back then. They were still young, too young...

Here, in the depths of Fenrir Greyback's sleeping pack, yet still alone in the freezing cave and the indifferent dark, he is certain of it--if only because he can just barely endure the pain now at thirty-six.

He is even colder now with the sticky wetness on his hand and clothes; he pulls out his wand from his bundled jacket to cast a surreptitious Cleaning charm, adding a brief Warming charm to dispel the chill under the blanket. He misses the warmth most of all he realizes, the warmth of a friendly and caring touch in the darkness, more so than any sex imagined or real; he misses the simple physical comfort of Sirius curled around him, his arms warm and safe, his heartbeat under his ear.

_You're such a romantic girl, Moony,_ mocks the youthful Sirius that lives in his head. Remus tries not to listen.

Glancing out of the mouth of the cave Remus sees the black night sky passing to indigo, the harbinger of dawn. Still shivering, relinquishing any hope of returning to sleep, he rises, shrugs into his jacket, rolls up his blanket for storage and stands at the mouth of the cave to watch the sky lighten. His breath puffs white in the crisp pre-dawn air, each lungful chasing away the sour smells of dirty fur and unwashed clothes from his pack mates.

_No showers here._

His jaw twitches as the sky moves from twilight to dawn and as the moon begins to set, trying to find some measure of comfort in the predictability of the cycles that rule his life; when once long ago he clung to the impulsiveness of Sirius and James and Peter. He listens carefully for signs of life from within the cave, signs to mark this new phase of his life, and wonders how he'd ever grown this old.

_You're only as old as you think, old man_, Sirius' voice whispers back. Then that voice begins to sing that very same annoying song from Remus' dream.

_Do your balls hang low  
Do they wobble to and fro..._

"Shut up, Sirius," Remus whispers fondly. But despite himself Remus grins and sings along, under his breath and off-key, as he waits for the sun rise and the rest of the pack to stir.


End file.
